The ache, the depth, motion and all things
that change, am I
Being too broad here, the horizon
and the myth
Of infinite regression, of gravity (which was once
called music)
And passion, like flowers in an electro-
magnetic field
Which ripple out & spark, the grand illusions
and the tiny
Ones alike, the indifference of strangers
to the flight
Of birds, can you hear me now, do you want me
to be more specific
About outer space, the quantum particles
that swerve
Along the vertex, where two bodies (heavenly
or otherwise)
Intersect, the minor tasks and major
efforts that lend life
A narrative, a geometric center, the appalling
beauty of the abstract,
Can you hear me, should I trace from X to Y
a downward
Slope, the ache & depth, can I parse the grammar
of agony, the wheel
And pulley, the wedge, all our inventions: maps,
poetry, drones.
Copyright © 2026 by Sara Nicholson. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on January 6, 2026, by the Academy of American Poets.
